Chapter XXXI Horace Shows the Right Spirit
The Blackporters rowed the Storm Island crew a guessed two miles, and beat the latter so badly that the race was somewhat farcical in its last stages.
“We’d better have stood on the bank and watched them pull past us,” complained Peewee. “We’d been saved a lot of hard work and worry.”
Yansey and his crew had their beaten rivals over on the commodore’s yacht to a great spread. It was really very jolly, and the winning crew was no more patronizing than they could help being. Yet when the squadron of the Blackport Boat Club got under way at seven o’clock, it left behind on Storm Island nine of the sorest youths that ever camped out on the Maine coast.
“You fellers couldn’t even wheel a baby carriage,” charged little Hicks. “And you said you could row!”
“You didn’t have to row,” flung back Ben Comas. “All you’ve had to do was shoot off your face.”
“We tried hard enough,” sighed Pudge.
“Can’t blame you, Horrors,” Kirby declared.
“I dunno as I want to learn to row,” Cloudman remarked.
“If we’d had any sort of training!” Midkiff gloomily grumbled.
“Cheer up, fellows,” was Kingdon’s laughing adjurement. “The worst is yet to come.”
“No it isn’t!” exclaimed Horace Pence with angry decision.
“Yes it is,” insisted Rex quietly. “We’ve agreed to enter those races three weeks from to-day. We’ll have to meet the Blackport, North Pemberly and Howelson crews. We’ve agreed to. Don’t want ’em to call us quitters, do we?”
“Of course we’ll race,” said Phillips, his jaw set doggedly.
“It isn’t that at all,” Pence went on, his black eyes flashing and his dark cheeks flushed. “It isn’t that. We’ll race, but we’re going to do better than we did to-day!”
“I sure do like the sound of your talk just about now,” Cloudman drawled. “Seems like you meant it. I’m with you.”
“Same here!” cried several of the others.
“What’s the use?” demanded Ben Comas. “We won’t have a show.”
“Of course we can’t get the best of those fellows, for they’re professionals,” Pudge groaned.
“Do you really mean to try it again, Horrors?” murmured Kirby.
The black-eyed fellow had waited impatiently for them to subside. Now he stopped Kirby’s further speech with a gesture, exclaiming: “That’s enough! I don’t want to be jollied. I know I’m the failure, not you fellows.”
“My jinks!” squawked Hicks. “You pull the best oar in the boat—bar Kingdon.”
“Thanks. You’re the cox and you should be able to judge some. Don’t matter how good an oar I pull. I can’t make the rest of you pull your best, so—I’m a failure.”
“As stroke?” grunted Red.
“Exactly,” confessed Pence, and none of them—not even Kingdon—knew how it hurt him to make the admission. “I see now that you can’t train all crews alike. I’ve been copying Belding methods.”
“Good methods under conditions,” murmured Kingdon.
“But they don’t fit here,” the other said shortly. “There’s just as good rowing material in this crew as there was in the freshman eight I was on, and they could have rowed all around us without half trying. I’m a failure as stroke and coach. There’s a screw loose somewhere. Just the same I believe we can do a lot better in the big race that is coming off this month.”
“What makes you so sure?” growled Ben Comas.
“Because we can all pull a good oar, singly—even Pudge,” Pence said. “Cloudman has improved wonderfully. But it needs something besides pulling to win a race. Just what it is, I don’t know; but I bet Kingdon knows—or can find out.”
“Oh, fudge!” muttered Ben. “Kingdon knows everything!”
“I reckon so,” Pence said quickly, with uplifted lip, as he eyed the glum Comas. “Go off somewhere and growl it off alone, Bennie. What does it matter who’s captain, if we can only win the race?”
“That’s your idea, is it?” Kirby said.
“Look here, Horrors,” Kingdon questioned uncertainly, “do you mean you want me——”
“You’re the chap to boss the boat,” cut in Pence. “You’re the fellow to pull stroke.”
There was a moment of breathless silence. To the surprise of the Walcott Hall boys, none of the others made either complaint or objection.
“If you say so——” began Rex slowly.
“I’ve said it,” Pence rejoined.
“Anybody object?” questioned Kingdon.
After another period of silence, Phillips chuckled: “It seems to be unanimous. You’re elected, King.”
“Go to it, Rex,” Pence said with heartiness.
“I shall coach this crew my own way, and to the best of my ability,” said Rex earnestly. “I may not do a bit better than Horace, but I have a system I want to try. If you back me up——”
“Look there!” cried Hicks suddenly, pointing. “What’s that fellow doing over on our boat?”
Kingdon took one look and started off on a fast run along the steep shore.
“It’s Joe Bootleg,” gasped Pudge. “He’s coming ashore from the Spoondrift.”
“He’s running!” exclaimed Hicks. “He’s been up to something.”
All had started after Rex, but Harry Kirby was in the lead. “Hey, Kingdon!” he shouted. “Have a care! Look out! He’s got it in for you!”
Joe Bootleg had already disappeared along the beach beyond the camp of the Walcott Hall boys.
As Kirby overtook Kingdon, the latter, still running, gave Harry a glance. “What’s he been doing aboard that boat?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps he fixed it to blow up your gasoline tank?”
“She’d have gone up by this,” Kingdon returned as he splashed into the water and clambered over the rail of the moored catboat.
She seemed very easy to climb into, for her rail was as low as though she was heavily laden.
“The rascal!” shouted Rex when he was aboard. He had splashed into a foot of water in the cockpit, and the cabin was all afloat.
“What’s he done? What’s he done?” clamored the excited crowd from the shore.
“He’s pulled the plug, or scuttled her,” answered Rex savagely. “Come aboard, John. We’ll have to find the hole and stop the leak in a hurry, or she’ll rest her old keel on the bottom in short order. If she sinks we’ll have a fine time getting her afloat again.”
“If we can’t help you, we’ll go after that crazy chap,” Pence shouted. “Come on, Kirby!”
They did not catch Joe Bootleg. The Indian had taken one of the canoes and hidden it farther along the shore of the island. This action had been overlooked by the campers because of the confusion attending the boat race. Joe was far out on the sound, and paddling for Manatee Head in the dusk, when the pursuers caught sight of him.